Abby
by Jacinda
Summary: Greg angst and a little NS. 'I remember holding Abby thinking that she was the most amazing thing on Earth. My mom said now that I had Abby, I would never be alone again.' (PG13 for cursing)
1. Abby

I always loved nights in Vegas. I loved the way the Strip illuminated the night sky; the way it never got too cold. I loved the people; I could sit and watch the tourists all day long. I always thought Vegas was one of my most amazing cities on Earth.

Tonight would be my last proficiency test; at least, I hoped that tonight would be when I became a CSI. It was a natural progression for me. I spent years in the DNA lab; I picked up extra shifts in trace evidence and fingerprinting. I carefully perfected my craft. The majority of my days and nights were spent preparing for tonight.

The case was a hit and run. A jogger was plowed down by an SUV in the suburbs. It wasn't as uncommon as people want to think; people in Vegas lived under the principles of excess. There were excess women, excess money, and excess alcohol. It wasn't uncommon to see innocent people fall victim to the excess of others. The witnesses said that the SUV was swerving from side to side of the road before it made contact with the jogger.

The jogger's body was laid out supine on the road. The body was so familiar; the brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, the lines of her face, and the big brown eyes. I wanted to vomit.

"Abby," I whispered as Grissom and I walked closer to the body. I set down my kit and began to run. Grissom was yelling at me, but right now I didn't really care. My baby sister was my DB in the suburbs.

"Greg, what the hell do you think you are doing?" Grissom yelled at me as I kneeled down next to what remained of my sister; I wanted to think that the most important parts of her were somewhere beyond this Earth.

"Someone needs to cover her up; she'll get cold," I yelled at one of the officers. At the time, my thought seemed plausible, but Grissom's disproving stare told me otherwise.

"Greg, it's a dead body," Grissom replied. Sometimes he was so unaware of circumstances; this time, I hated him for it.

"It's not a dead body. This is my sister's body. Why isn't someone trying to help her," I yelled at him. I wondered why no one was doing anything to help her. There had to be something that could save her. This wasn't supposed to happen; I was five years her senior. I was supposed to be the first to die; that's how the world was supposed to work.

"Greg, you should go back to the lab," Grissom said as he put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not leaving her. I can't leave her," I whispered. I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes; I wasn't going to cry here. I wasn't about to mourn her in the middle of a street where people watched what was going on like it was a circus. I wanted to bring her home.

"Greg, you need to leave her. I'm going to see if someone can pick you up and take you home," Grissom said. His voice was stern; it was that of a father's. It was a tone and quality that I hadn't heard since I was ten years old.

I reluctantly walked away from Abby. I sat on the curb across the street. I watched Grissom photograph her. I watched Abby disappear into a body bag. I wondered how she would breathe when she was surrounded in air tight plastic. The idea of her being dead; it couldn't be real. I wasn't going to let myself believe that this was real. This was what nightmares were made of; this wasn't supposed to be happening.

"Greg, are you ready to go?" Nick asked me. He might have said it multiple times. I was so far off in my thoughts that I wouldn't have noticed.

"I want to go with Abby," I replied. My voice was cracking; I was slowly losing whatever composure I still had left.

"You should go home," Nick replied as he sat down next to me.

"What am I supposed to do next?" I asked. I was so confused; I still wanted to believe that this was a nightmare.

"You should call your parents," Nick replied.

"I can't. I can't call them," I replied. My sentences were becoming more and more staccato; if I talked more, there was a good chance that my talking would give way to my grieving.

"They need to know, Greg," Nick coaxed. He just didn't get it; it was something that he could never understand. I didn't come from the perfect big family; it was something I only had in dreams and in memories.

"They already know. They've been dead for eighteen years," I whispered. I choked on the words; the words felt like they were lodged in my throat.

"I'm sorry. Can I drive you home?" Nick asked again.

"I think I need to go home," I replied. Nick went to gather my kit. I waited in the passenger seat of the SUV. I couldn't take my eyes off the patch of black asphalt where Abby died. It wasn't fair; this wasn't fucking fair.

"Where do you live?" Nick asked as he started up the SUV.

"About three miles from here. Take this road straight; turn left of Walden. I'm the fourth house on the right side of the road," I said; I couldn't believe how smoothly the words flowed.

"Are you going to be okay?" Nick asked.

"I remember the day Abby was born. I was so excited; my parents brought me to the hospital with them. I remember holding Abby thinking that she was the most amazing thing on Earth. My mom said now that I had Abby, I would never be alone again. That didn't hold up, now did it?" I said. I wasn't sure if that was an indication that I wouldn't be okay.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Nick replied. I knew I was making him uncomfortable. I wanted to talk about Abby. She was the only stable thing that I had in my life. She was always there; with her, I was never alone.

"She was a medical student; it was her second year. She wanted to be a pathologist. I told I wanted her to have the best; it's funny how nothing ever felt like a sacrifice. I worked extra shifts so Abby could afford to take the MCAT and apply to what seemed like an endless number of medical schools," I rambled, "This morning, Abby told me that it was about time I started dating. She always teased me for being an 'old hen.' She said that I watched over her too closely; I wasn't really living my life."

The SUV was silent. I wanted something to fill that silence. My house would be even more silent.

"We lived with my aunt and uncle after Mom and Dad died. We were never treated like their kids. They wouldn't throw Abby a graduation party when she graduated from high school. I had just started working at the lab; I pulled double shifts for a week to make sure that I could afford a nice party for her and afford to fly home to see her graduate," I said.

"I remember that. You were ornery as hell that week," Nick replied laughing.

"Abby deserved the best; she was cheated out of so many years with Mom and Dad. She never complained; Abby never felt bad for herself. Girl scouts had a Father-Daughter dance every year; when Abby was ten, she didn't go. I found the flyer in her backpack one day when I was checking her homework. I made sure to take her the next year. God, she's gone isn't she?" I asked as I finally gave into all the hurt I was feeling. I tried to soften my sobs; I hadn't cried since Mom and Dad died. The scar had all been reopened. I wasn't sure how I would ever make it to tomorrow.


	2. Nick's POV

Nick's POV:

Greg's house isn't anything like I pictured. It's clean and organized. The tables are a photojournalist spread of Abby growing up. There are pictures of her graduating, pictures of Abby and Greg on vacation, and pictures randomly taken to remember days that held no significance other than Abby being with Greg. My heart broke for him.

I called Grissom to say that Greg wasn't doing well. He said to stay with Greg until some family got there to stay with him. Grissom was shocked when I told him that there wasn't any family to comfort Greg; his only family was the lab. He was the nerdy younger brother to us all. The burden rested completely on the shoulders of a man that was forced to grow up at such a young age. He was not only her brother, but the closest thing to a father Abby would ever have.

He aimlessly walked around the house. Little remnants of her lay haphazardly among the order that Greg established, a hair brush and a copy of a large medical text. He busied himself by doing dishes. I was worried that he had stopped talking. Greg seemed so much happier when he talked about Abby; after all, she was all that he had for the past eighteen years.

"Nick, you don't need to stay," Greg said weakly when I joined him in the kitchen.

"Are you going to be okay if I leave?" I asked.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid if that's what you are asking," Greg replied. A glass slipped out of his hand and shattered on the tile floor. He began to curse loudly as he picked up the fragments.

"Greg, why don't you go sit down. I can clean this up," I offered.

"Please just leave me alone . . . just leave me alone," Greg said weakly. I could see the contrast between the red blood and white skin. He didn't even notice the substantial cut on his hand.

"Greg, are you sure you want me to leave," I asked again to clarify.

"I'll be at work tomorrow night. Thank you for the ride home," Greg replied mechanically.

It felt wrong to leave Greg alone, but I wasn't sure if my presence was upsetting him. I'm not sure if he even realized that he said that I had the perfect family and I would never understand how he was feeling. I was taken aback. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I did have a big family. I always had someone to look out for me. I was never alone. Greg and Abby spent their entire life shrouded in a loneliness that I would never understand.

The drive back to the lab was long. My shift was almost over. I didn't have any cases; nor, did I want to take on any cases. I wanted to go home and call my sister; I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I was sure that she wouldn't understand, but it would put my mind at ease. I wondered what Greg's last words to Abby were before he left for work. For his sake, I hoped that they were something meaningful.

Sara, Warrick, and Grissom were in Grissom's office. The mood was somber. I imagined that they were talking about Abby; they were probably dividing up the case work. I really didn't want anything to do with the case; I couldn't after learning more about Abby and how much Greg loved her. Without knowing her, the case was still too personal.

"How's Greg doing?" Sara asked when I walked into Grissom's office.

"Not good. He said he needed to be alone," I replied. I began to wonder if I should have stayed with him . . . just to make sure that his grief wasn't giving way to feelings of guilt or actions of harm.

"I didn't realize. I feel like an ass for even bringing him to that crime scene," Grissom muttered.

"You don't have the insight to deal with people well," Sara commented. Any other time, her comment would probably be considered rude, but I even wondered what Grissom was thinking when he took Greg to investigate the hit and run of Abigail Sanders. Sometimes, I wondered if Grissom even knew our last names.

"Tough break," Warrick lamented.

"I found his HR file. He didn't fill the emergency contact section out," Catherine said as she laid the thin file down on Grissom's desk.

"Greg said that there was no one to call," I replied.

"It's not fair, is it," Sara replied. She walked over to Grissom's desk and picked up a pen. She began to write in the file; probably filled out her information in the emergency contact section of Greg's file. Sara might not be good with emotion, but she has this uncanny ability to always do the right thing.

"I think I might stop over at his house after shift," Sara said. It was well known that Greg always had a crush on her. Sara was just very slow to realize how much he cared about her. She never returned his affections.

"The house is a little creepy," I replied, "There are pictures of Abby everywhere. It's nothing I ever expected from Greg."

"I guess we all have our secrets," Catherine replied.

"Here's the only place he probably ever got to be himself . . . get away from having to always be the one that's in charge," Warrick replied. It did make sense; this was the only place where Greg could be a goof-ball; where he could be himself.

"We should probably call a grief counselor for him," I suggested, "He's never planned a funeral before; Greg said he had no idea what to do next. He wants to come back to work tomorrow."

"He's going to burn himself out," Warrick replied.

"Yeh, but do you want him to sit in his house alone," Catherine replied, "Greg might do better if he's in the lab under our watchful eyes."

"I don't want him in the field," Grissom said.

"He's going to think you are punishing him," Sara argued, "Maybe you should let him make that decision."

"Grissom, do you have cases to hand over to me? My day shift is waiting," Eckley said as he pounded on the door. There was no need for him to do that; the door was open and we were all in the office.

"No, I'm keeping the case I had last night. Take the new stuff," Grissom replied.

"Are you sure? Day shift can close the hit and run before your people are back tonight," Eckley replied. I hated the way he always emphasized your people.

"No, it's my case. Stay the hell away from it," Grissom hissed, "You guys, go home. I have some work to do."

"Griss . . . I'll stay," I offered.

"No, it's my burden," Grissom replied as he stood up. He brushed passed us without another word.

"Give him time. Grissom just needs to reclaim control over the situation. Sara, go take care of Greg. Nick, Warrick, go home and get some sleep. I'm going to start processing the tire treads and fragments of the headlight," Catherine said breaking the silence of the room.

"Cath, I can stay," I repeated.

"Not today. We'll need you, Sara and Warrick to keep things running in the lab while Gris and I close this case," Catherine said as she gathered the file from Grissom's desk. Catherine was always like the rational 'parent' of this family. She took care of crises the most effectively.

"Sara, keep an eye on Greg. You call Nick or Warrick if you get in over your head," Catherine cautioned as she shooed us from the office.


	3. Sara's POV

Sara's POV:

It's eight in the morning. All of Vegas seemed so peaceful. The streets are empty; the tourists are still sleeping. It's deceiving; so many bad things in Vegas manage to ride right below the radar.

I'm sitting in Greg's driveway. I've been sitting here for a few minutes. I'm not ready to go inside, but I'm not sure if I'd ever be ready to go inside. I pull myself out of the car. The sun is already beating down on the cement making it a little too hot outside. I take a few deep breaths before walking to the doorstep. I knock on the door and I wait.

"Sara, why are you here?" Greg asked. He was wearing the same clothes he did last night. He was squinting; he looked awful.

"I wanted to keep you company," I replied. I instinctively place one of my hands on his arm. I tried to smile.

"I really don't need any company," Greg said. He looked at me confused. He stepped back and let me into his home. Nick was right when he said that there was something a little creepy about the house. There were pictures of his sister everywhere. I stopped to admire pictures of them at Greg's college graduation. I wondered why he never talked about her. I never knew that he had a sister; let alone that he raised his sister. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to make a difference; it probably wouldn't have.

"I'm trying figure out who she would want me to call," Greg said as he looked the door. He was logged on to his computer. He had printed out some pictures of what he thought should be at Abby's funeral. There were pictures of lilies and white roses.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked.

"I haven't called her boyfriend. He was supposed come here tomorrow, so Abby could formally introduce us. He wants to marry her," Greg rambled. I noticed the tense of the last statement . . . he wants to marry her.

"Greg, I can call him. What else can I do?" I asked as I sat next to him. Abby looked so much like him. Tall and slender; she had long brown hair. She looked so carefree despite the circumstances. I lingered on a picture of Abby getting her hair done for prom, homecoming, or some other social event. I ran my finger around the rim of the picture frame.

"That's when Abby was getting ready for Cotillion. My mom was a debutant. My aunt let us use some of our inheritance money to get Abby all the stuff for Cotillion," Greg rambled, "I got to be the one to introduce her at the Ball. She told me that Mom and Dad would have been proud of how good I took care of her."

"It sounds like you were always there when Abby needed you," I replied as I set down the picture.

"I can't believe she's gone," Greg said as he lowered his head. His body was racked with sobs. I sat down next to him. I rested one of my hands on his; he leaned on me. Greg fell into my arms. It was rare that I saw this kind of emotion from people; I normally avoided emotion. I wrapped my arms around him. I don't know what I said, but he quieted.

"Do you really think that it's better than Earth?" Greg asked. Men of science were usually men of little faith. Something beyond his realm of explanation had shattered his world tonight. This wasn't about what or who; this was about why. CSIs don't deal in the why department; we deal in the tangible.

"I think she's probably being well taken care of," I replied. I didn't have much of a concept of heaven and hell. I didn't have much faith; people had disappointed me so much that it was hard to have faith. Life had thrown me so many curve balls that faith was hard to come by.

"Sara, Abby would have liked you. Abby was tough; she never let anything get her down," Greg said as he temporarily calmed down.

"Greg, you gave her everything you could. You were just a kid when you were raising Abby. I'm sure that your parents would be very proud of you," I whispered. I could feel the tears in my eyes; there was a palpable lump in my throat.

"I loved her so much. I still love her so much," Greg cried.

He took two hours to quiet. Greg fell into a deep sleep among the funeral planning that he so diligently had begun. I tried to stretch him out on the couch. I took his shoes off and put them by the door. I began to clean up the kitchen. There was still some blood on the floor courtesy of the cut on Greg's hand. I stared at the telephone number for Marc. I didn't know what to say to the young man; his girlfriend just died. I was so glad that I wasn't expected to do this every day.

I was startled by the knocking on the door.

"Sar, I couldn't sleep," Nick said. He looked like hell. He looked exhausted.

"Greg's sleeping. I was going to make some breakfast. I was going to make a few meals and freeze them for Greg," I replied as I let Nick in.

"Sara, you don't cook," Nick pointed out as he followed me into the kitchen.

"I thought I'd try," I replied as I pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator. Nick began to search for a frying pan. We moved together quietly. We made three plates. I tried to wake Greg, but he asked for a few more minutes of sleep. I covered him with a blanket. I stared at him. Sometimes he looked so much like a child. I wished that there would have been more time for Greg to be a boy.

"I'll go grocery shopping this afternoon," Nick said as I walked into the kitchen.

"Greg would probably appreciate that. I need to call the boyfriend this afternoon," I replied as I picked at the breakfast Nick and I just finished making.

"What else do you think we can do?" Nick replied. It was the first time that I ever saw him finish only half of his meal. He pushed his plate away; he said that the food was good, the company was good, but the circumstances really suck. I echoed that sentiment.

"Wait. Have you checked in with Catherine lately?" I asked as I began to clean up the kitchen.

"Nope, I was sitting at home thinking about how good I have it . . . you know family and stuff," Nick said as he watched me clean.

"Call Catherine. I'll finish cleaning up," I replied. I could hear broken parts of Nick's conversation, but I was mostly lost in my thoughts. I went to answer the doorbell before it woke Greg up. I hoped that Warrick was still sleeping; someone needed to be ready to work tonight.

"How's Greg doing?" Warrick asked as I stepped aside so he could get in the house. Greg slept through all the noise. His chest was rising slowly. He had a pained look on his face.

"Sleeping . . . you know," I replied. I couldn't think of words to adequately describe his pain.

"Yeh . . . I couldn't sleep. Is that Nick in the kitchen?" Warrick asked as he pulled off his sunglasses.

"Nick couldn't sleep either," I replied as the three of us congregated in the kitchen.

"Catherine has a linked the tires to a light truck which corroborates Doc's autopsy report. She's thinking a Ford F150 that has a chrome bumper that is rusting. There were chrome flecks and rust found on the torso. Paint chips are cherry red," Nick rambled after he hung up his phone, "The morgue needs to know where Abby's remains are being sent."

"I should go in and look at the evidence; Catherine isn't as good with cars as I am," Warrick replied.

"Warrick, you look awful. At least try to get some sleep," I replied quickly. I knew that it wasn't going to happen; there was too much stress right now. Sleep would just have to come later.

"That's the good news," Nick replied, "Abby was about six weeks pregnant."

That was a bombshell that I didn't need to hear. I knew that this would come out in court; Nevada was charging people with murder of a fetus if the cause of death was intentional, premeditated, or by gross negligence. Greg would find out about this; this would make his grieving so much worse. How was I supposed to explain this to the boyfriend.

"Man . . . when it rains, it pours," Warrick replied.

"That's putting it rather lightly," I replied sarcastically; it was the only way I could reply without crying.

"I'm headed to the lab," Warrick replied as he put his sunglasses on. It was a weak attempt to hide his exhaustion.

"Keep us up to date, bro," Nick replied. Nick put a hand on my shoulder. My arms were crossed tightly across my chest. My breathing was irregular. I knew that this was noticeable. I maintained my composure until Warrick left the house. The tears fell down my face silently. Fate was cruel; had Abby lived for another year, Greg's family would have doubled in size . . . a niece or nephew and a brother-in-law. Nick let me cry against his chest. I tried so hard to be quiet. I didn't want to wake Greg; I didn't want to have to tell him about the pregnancy. I didn't want to be the one to kill him.

Sometimes, I let myself feel too much; I felt so much for Greg. He was like the little brother I never had. I teased him the other day about losing his 'virginity.' I didn't believe him when he said that he didn't throw up. I wondered why something so awful needed to happen to someone who already had their fair share of awful in their life.

"Sar, I can tell him," Nick whispered.

"No, I should . . . I just need to stop crying," I said nearly laughing at my last comment.

"Sara Sidle, I'm not going to tell anyone that you are sensitive," Nick whispered. At that moment, I just wanted to feel something . . . anything besides the hurt I was feeling at the moment. Through my tears, I kissed him. He kissed me back, but it would be only a momentary escape from reality. I rested my head on his chest; I worked so hard to compose myself. We needed to be strong for Greg; it was the least we could do for him.


	4. Greg's POV

Greg's POV:

My dreams are all of her; I see her every where I look. Abby is asking me to come to her, but I am frozen in a dimension that I cannot transcend. I watch her drift away; she's smiling. Abby looks so different than the body that was rendered helpless last night. She looks so happy; even in my dreams, I look so sad.

I wake to see Nick sleeping in a rocking chair and Sara sleeping on the loveseat. For a moment, I forget why they are here. I sit up; I am severely disoriented in my own home. My brain does not know what to tell my body to do. I see pictures of her every where; I see the pictures of flowers I thought she might like. The room suddenly feels too small.

I retreat to the kitchen. There are groceries on the counter; I don't remember getting groceries this morning, last night, or the day before. My kitchen is clean; it smells of bleach and lemons. I don't know what I'm looking for in the kitchen. I grab a beer out of the refrigerator and I retreat to the deck.

The deck is the only reason that I bought this house. The deck gave me a magnificent view of suburbia. I was surrounded by perfect little houses, with perfect families and perfect children. I was the only single male in the neighborhood; I was the imperfection in the neighborhood. The perfection was an odd comfort; the weekends were filled with the sounds of children playing or people barbequing. It brings back some of the memories that seemed to fade over the years.

Today, the neighborhood is quiet. Children are still at school and their parents are at their perfect jobs. I hate the silence. When my parents were alive, the house was always filled by chaotic noise. There was always someone talking; there was always someone asking you how your day was. My mom would sing while she cooked. That's why I always took comfort in Sara's absentminded melodies when she was engrossed in work. Abby would also sing; Mom bought her a Disney tape when she was three. Abby promptly memorized all the lyrics; she put on concerts for us frequently. At eight years of age, I thought it was a punishment to have to sit through Abby's concerts; now, I realize the importance of those memories.

"I didn't know where you were," Nick said as he sat in a chair next to me. He yawned. I wondered if he had gotten much sleep this morning.

"I didn't know that I was lost," I replied.

"Should you be drinking that at two in the afternoon?" Nick referred to the beer that I drinking; I hated beer, but it was the only alcohol in the house. I bought it three days ago in preparation for the arrival of Abby's boyfriend.

"It's not going to kill me. Besides, I have no where to go," I replied.

"Marc is flying in this afternoon," Nick replied. I didn't want to have to meet Abby's boyfriend; I didn't want to have to watch another person grieve.

"I need to plan a funeral," I replied.

"Sara said that she would help," Nick replied, "I'll pick Marc up from the airport."

"That would be good," I replied.

We sat watching the emptiness around us. There were no more words that needed to be exchanged. There was nothing that could be said to make this better, but I still longed for something to fill this void.

"Catherine and Warrick have some leads," Nick commented. I didn't really care; this wasn't about revenge. Revenge wouldn't bring her back; the feelings of emptiness were so much more potent than my desire to confront the person that did this.

"Does it matter anymore?" I asked.

"She deserves justice," Nick replied.

"It's not going to bring her back," I replied. I stared at the neighbor's black lab. She must be home for lunch. She waves to me. I wave back. Her dog, Scooter, races over to join Nick and me. I normally have a treat for the hyperactive dog, but today, I have nothing to give. She collects her dog and disappears into her perfect world.

"Are you hungry?" Nick asked. The conversation was awkward. My earliest memories of death were the awkward conversations that people had. At my parents' funeral, I remember people talking about the weather and food like it really mattered; like the fate of the human race depended on what type of potato salad would be served at the lunch following the funeral.

"No, I think I just want to sit here for a little bit longer," I replied.

"Sara is going to be pissed if I don't make you something for lunch," Nick replied with a chuckle.

"Better you than me," I replied. I took comfort in the mindless banter. I took comfort in the fact that I could picture Sara yelling at Nick for not feeding me, like I was incapable of making decisions for myself. They were good friends; I often thought of them as family. Abby always said she wanted to meet them; I wasn't sure why I never introduced her to my coworkers. She was always bringing over one of her friends from school. Abby might have lived in San Diego, but she spent the majority of her free time in Las Vegas.

"Thanks for putting my neck out on the line," Nick replied.

"So Sara's going to be pissed?" I asked.

"She made me go grocery shopping so you wouldn't starve," Nick replied mocking Sara.

"I think starvation is the least of my worries," I joked, "You talk about her like she's your wife."

"Might as well be. Bosses me around like a pro," Nick replied laughing.

"I think you two better shut up," Sara replied. It caused both Nick and I to jump. She was standing with her hands on her hips. I wondered how long she was there. The angry expression on her face made me laugh; it made me laugh uncontrollably. Her face softened . . . she mock punched my shoulder.

"Nick, don't you have to get to the airport?" Sara asked as she tapped the face of her watch.

"Going, honey," Nick said as he quickly stood up and made his way back into the house. I could hear Sara mutter something under her breath. Nick heard it; he told her to simmer down. Sara told him to start driving.

"Did you sleep okay?" Sara asked as she took up residence in Nick's chair.

"You know; what about you?" I asked.

"Good enough. Greg, I need to talk to you," Sara said with a sigh. Her eyes were fixed on something in the distance. She looked serious. It sent chills down my spine. It was the same feeling I had when the doctor said that Mom and Dad were dead.

"What is it? Whatever it is please just tell me," I said. I was becoming panicky.

"Greg, Catherine and Doc finished the post on Abby. Greg, did you know that Abby was pregnant?" Sara asked. Her eyes were still glued on the horizon. I was frozen. I was holding my breath . . . I didn't even know what to say about that. A baby. My baby sister was going to have a baby.

"Is Doc sure?" I asked.

"The pregnancy hormone was present in the blood panel. Doc says she probably knew; Abby was about six week pregnant," Sara said.

I could feel my heart stop. Abby was starting a family. It was something that she always wanted. It was something I always wanted for her. I was going to have niece or nephew. Mom and Dad would have had a grandson or granddaughter. I couldn't even breathe. This made it ten times worse; this was the loss of a beautiful woman and the loss of someone that could have done great things . . . someone that wasn't even given a chance.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me after the shock wore off.


	5. Catherine and Warrick's POV

Catherine's POV:

"Grissom, don't work against me here. I need you to come back to lab," I said into my cell phone. I was exasperated at Gil; he took this case upon himself as if it was his own. I knew he felt guilty; Gil had told me what he said to Greg about Abby just being a DB in the suburbs. I told him to stop chasing leads without me; we needed to work together. Brass had commented that Grissom and I had switched personalities; Grissom pounded the pavement, I listened to the evidence.

Warrick was busy comparing paint chips and chips of chrome. I was busy trying to figure out the tread pattern. I was staring at the young girl's jogging fleece. There were muddy tread marks across her torso; Abby had been sucked under the car. Once I became fixated on her cause of death, I had to leave the lab to get some fresh air. This girl had her whole life in front of her; she had effectively played the crappy hand that she was dealt. I always wondered why; I wished I could be more like Gil . . . I wish I didn't want to know why.

Warrick and I worked quietly. Sara called once to let me know how Greg was doing. I told Sara to take the night off; two of the day-shifters had agreed to pick up some extra shifts. I told her to tell Nick to take the night off; they should make sure Greg is okay. I didn't want anything else to happen to our little family. I told Sara that I would work until I had some answers; Sara said that answers didn't matter much right now . . . none of our machines could bring her back. I knew that.

I looked forward to going home; I looked forward to hugging my daughter. She was the only family I had left; she was the only family that I wanted to see. I was so lucky to have Lindsey. I was so lucky that I had someone to love me. I could feel the tears building in my eyes; I felt like I had to escape before the floodgates opened. I ran for the locker room. I sat on the bench and began to cry. I wasn't sure exactly why; maybe it was because I knew that I treated Greg like a child. I would often make fun of him. I never played into his jokes or his childish nature. We should have known that Greg was alone; we should have known enough not to send Greg out for Abigail Sanders.

"Cath, are you okay?" Warrick asked as he sat next to me.

"Why didn't we know that he was alone?" I asked.

"Greg wasn't alone. He always had us," Warrick said as he wrapped an arm around me. He pulled me closer to his body. I rested my head on his shoulder. I spent fifteen minutes frozen in this position.

Warrick's POV:

I had nailed the paint chips and chromo chips to an older model Chevy. The witness reports said that it wasn't a big truck and it had an open bed . . . part of the tailgait was missing. It was probably a late 80s F150. There were forty registered in the Las Vegas metro area, but only one registered within three miles of the crime scene. I thought that was probably our best bet, but Brass reminded me that everyone drives through Vegas. I wanted to think that the guy was probably returning home from the casinos after having too much to drink.

Brass said that he would check it out. Catherine insisted on going with him; she said she needed to make a positive ID on the tire treads found on the lilac fleece Abby was wearing. I told her that I could go and do it, so she could go get some rest; she declined my offer, but she asked me to come with her.

Brass tried to make small talk with us. He didn't know Greg the same way we did; he didn't realize that we were grieving for Greg's sister as if she were one of our own. That's just the way our lab was.

We spent the afternoon walking the streets and ringing doorbells. I was exhausted; the adrenaline from last night was slowly declining leaving me as close to being a zombie as possible. Catherine was much more relentless; loyal Catherine, was going to fight until she had answers. This time the forensic answers weren't going to answer her questions about fate, destiny, suffering, punishment, and reward, but she needed some kind of answers to quiet her brain.

We took tire treads from pick-up trucks. Each of the owners let us take pictures, take tread impressions, and use our eyes to evaluate the condition of their cars. Most of the owners and their wives commented on the tragedy of the story; obviously Abby had made the news. One of the older ladies began to cry when she talked about how she always feared that her daughter would meet the same fate while jogging late at night in the suburbs.

My feet ached, my head ached, and my body ached. Catherine popped an ibuprofen every few hours to medicate the pain in her body and the pain in her mind. I closed my eyes and tried to think about how lucky I was. I closed my eyes and began to wish that I could run home and play my piano. The cool chords of my melancholy jazz always seemed to soothe my soul. My soul needed a lot of soothing.

Catherine called Grissom numerous times to figure out where the hell he was lurking. She said that he was calling mechanics and salvage yards to see if anyone dropped off a vehicle fitting our description. Catherine even mentioned that Grissom was getting together a press release of the make, model, and suspected damage of the pick-up. It might have been the first press release that Grissom ever wrote. I couldn't even begin to imagine how Grissom was suffering; I had a harder time fathoming how Greg must be suffering.

I called Sara to see how Greg was holding. Sara said that Greg fell into his own microcosm of funeral planning in order to forget about the tragedy. She had driven him to a funeral home where they were in the middle of a marathon session of funeral planning. Greg had been fixating on flowers, readings, and casket in order to forget. Sara said she wasn't sure what was going to happen when she took him home to where Nick and Marc were waiting.

I closed my eyes and began to rub my forehead again. Catherine leaned heavily against my shoulder as Brass drove us to one of the last houses on our list. She might have been sleeping, or she might have been listening to her brain try to reason out why this happened. I wished that my brain would shut up.

The day was surreal – it was as if we were stuck in Greg's nightmare.


	6. Nick's POV

A/N: This story is set prior to the craziness that is the swing shift, before Greg as a CSI, before evil Catherine, and even prior to Sophia (not that I really think Sophia is the biggest problem with the show right now - she's actually starting to grow on me). Just wanted to clear up any confusion before it happens. Happy reading - Jac

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Nick's POV:

Marc was just a kid. It hit me from the moment I first saw him. He didn't look like he was even old enough to be a medical student, but Abby didn't look like she was a young woman either. Maybe it was the look of absolute hopelessness in his eyes . . . maybe it was the way he looked like he was haphazardly put together.

I carried his luggage for him because he looked like he might just be too tired to even carry himself. We made absent minded small talk until we were in the privacy of my SUV. He wanted to know every gory detail of the scene. He wanted all the who, why, and how questions answered. Marc needed the answers to resolve the internal conflict . . . the anger – men of science often needed these answers to somehow right the wrongs of the world. In my eyes, the answers were of little comfort.

Sara called me to let me know that she was with Greg at a local funeral home. Greg was consumed with the minute details of a day that would probably be nothing but a blur in his numb mind. She said that they would be home soon. Sara told me that Greg was just numb; he hadn't cried . . . he hadn't gotten angry. She said that she was concerned that Greg was avoiding the issues altogether by busying his mind and his hands. She sounded about as broken up as Greg did. I told her that I would talk to Marc about the issue that none of us wanted to speak about out loud.

I spoke softly when I told him about the pregnancy. I wasn't sure what words to say to make things better. I don't think there were words that I could have said to cushion the blow. A life ended too soon . . . a life that never got the chance to begin. It was that simple. It wasn't something that the mind could easily wrap itself around, but it was essentially that simple.

Marc sat perfectly still for a few minutes before drawing in two deep, harsh breaths. He looked confused. He looked as if someone might have just pulled his heart out of his chest. Marc shook for a few seconds before standing up and picking up one of the pictures of Abby that was sitting on a consol table near the couch. He looked at the picture as if he was memorizing every single detail of her . . . maybe imagining every single detail of what might have been. He looked confused, but that confusion soon gave way to an uncontrollable rage.

The glass exploded into a million pieces when it hit the hardwood floor. The sound was harsh against the silence that filled the room. It was nearly deafening. Marc sifted through the glass to find the picture. He stared at the picture as if he was silently begging her to tell him what to do next. The picture didn't say a word. With that realization, he slumped to his knees amidst the shard of glass and broken pieces of the frame. Marc looked as if he wanted to call out to her, but instead he lowered his head and began to silently sob.

He went to call his mother. I cleaned up the glass. I didn't know what to say to the young man because I had never had a relationship close to being as serious as the one he had with Abby. I had never lost anyone that I loved that much. The closest I came was losing Kristi; I had felt an obligation towards Kristi. I honored that obligation the best I could, but I didn't love her. I had no real recollection of losing someone like that in my life. My grandparents had passed away when I was far too young to remember the funerals or the mourners. My family had been blessed with good health.

"Hey," I said weakly as Greg walked through the front door. Greg nodded and said that he was feeling a little drained right now. Sara followed him closely.

Greg asked about Marc. I didn't know what to tell him besides the young man was absolutely devastated. Greg asked if he knew; he thanked me when I said I already told him all about the scene, the investigation, and the subject that I could barely talk about. Greg nodded and collapsed on the couch. He let his head sink back into the cushions.

Sara asked him if he needed anything. Greg's only reply was the he needed for time to reverse itself. He said that he needed to start thinking about how to say good-bye. Sara nodded.

When Marc came back into the room, Greg stood up. They looked at each other silently for a minute before Greg asked Sara and me if we could give them some time alone. Sara and I retreated to the deck.

The sun was sinking into the horizon. We had made it through nearly twenty-four hours. They always say it's the first forty-eight hours that make a case. I begged to differ – it was the first twenty-four hours. After that, leads go cold and evidence gives way to the forces of nature. I didn't know if we as a lab had anything to help Abby . . . to help Greg. I surely didn't want this case to give way to forces that we cannot control.

"It's strange. It feels like I've lost someone in my family. I didn't think this would hurt so much," Sara said as she leaned over the railing to watch the sun begin to set.

"Maybe it is a family. Grissom said it once, but I never really believed it until now," I replied as I walked up behind her.

"You think he's going to be okay?" Sara asked.

"He will be. He just needs us right now. Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"He didn't walk around like he had a chip on his shoulder. His life was so much crappier than mine ever was, but he didn't carry the chip that I do. Greg thought he was lucky. He told me that on the way to the funeral home. I had it so much easier than he did, but I never thought that I was lucky. It makes me feel ungrateful . . . selfish," Sara rambled.

"He was lucky. He made her his world. Greg made himself a family," I replied as I rested my hands on her shoulders and began to gently knead her muscles.

"Why did his luck have to run out?" Sara asked as if her confidence in all things lucky had just been shattered. She was the only one that was brave enough to ask the million dollar question and expect that there be an answer. Sara sounded as if she hoped that there was an answer . . . something to explain away all the bad things in life.

"I don't know," I replied.


End file.
